Amplified
by trollnexus
Summary: HPDM slash. Harry's new upstairs neighbour is such a noisy wanker...literally. And somehow, Harry can't help but join in. One-shot. Mature content.


**Title: **Amplified

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns everyone and I make no money off of this. The writing is its own reward, really.

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco

**Rating:** Oh, definitely M.

**Warnings: **This is a _very_ sexual story, especially due to the voyeurism. If you are uncomfortable with that or you have parents that would kill me if they caught you reading that, please close the window right now.

**Summary:** Harry's new upstairs neighbour is such a noisy wanker...literally. And somehow, Harry can't help but join in.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I am still working on the next chapter of A Series of Misunderstandings, but come on, I _really_ needed to write this. So badly. It's been burning in my head forever. This story has not been beta-checked, and I was half-asleep at some point due to my insane desire to finish this story _right goddamn now_, but I hope it makes sense, anyway.

In case any of you care, this story was actually inspired by an entry for Asebi's poetry contest on the Aarin Fantasy forums, which I helped judge. This particular prompt was to write an etheree, which is a poem that follows the 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 syllable rule, or vice versa.

Here's the poem:

**Can I Join You, Sir?  
**By buhbibutterfly

dear sir who lives above my apartment  
i can hear you moaning and groaning  
from day in to day out grinding  
floor boards constantly creaking  
feets above shuffling  
bumping and tumbling  
cries get louder  
'yes harder'  
shudder  
*gasp*

See, wasn't that an amazing poem? Doesn't that inspire you to go write your own smut?

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

Harry loved his apartment.

It was not exactly in the suburbs, but it was not exactly in the middle of urbanity, either. His living room window overlooked a small marketplace and communal area filled with cafes and little shops and a Muggle university. Whenever he sat to eat breakfast, he could hear the bustling of shoppers and the voices of merchants advertising their wares, as well as the occasional student. At night, he could hear live music from some student-funded concert and the singing of the occasional drunkard as he or she left a pub. The only hours where the area would ever be completely quiet would be in the dead of night, and Harry was never awake at those times, anyway.

Maybe there were people out there who would hate the idea of living in a place where you could hear people outside your window. Merlin knew the Dursleys would despise it, for example, since they liked the absolute silence of the suburbs, but that was precisely why Harry adored this neighbourhood. Graduating from Hogwarts had not been easy for him. He missed having roommates who bickered and sang and passed gas and caused a general ruckus. He missed having Hermione barge in with admonitions and reminders to revise for exams. He missed the sound of spell-casting and ghosts and even Peeves, damn it.

He never knew that living alone could be so…lonely.

That was why when he had first moved into a suburban home nearby Ron and Hermione, he nearly went insane from the silence, remembering all the times in the cupboard and the quiet anticipation of his uncle's next angry explosion. He toughed it out for a while, of course, when he had still been hopeful about marrying Ginny one day, but that relationship never did work out, and the thought of living alone for the rest of his life made him immediately move out in search of a noisier space.

This village quarter was not exactly Hogwarts, but it sufficed, and Harry was able to sleep well most nights, lulled to sleep by whatever impromptu lullaby his fellow villagers came up on their next alcoholic adventure.

For two years, he lived here in peace and happiness, developing a routine. On the weekdays, he would wake up early, eat breakfast, and prepare for Auror training, which eventually turned into actual Auror work when he passed the training. He would then go to work, which would take a variable number of hours, depending on whether he had field work or paperwork or a mixture of the two. Then he would go home, have dinner if there was time, then sleep. On the weekends, he slept in, ate a leisurely breakfast, then either spent time with friends or stayed in bed reading a book or watching the telly. There would be lunch involved in there somewhere, and there would always be a dinner, and after that he would fall asleep to the sound of drunken singing.

He loved his life, for the most part.

Of course, there were times when he would gather the courage to go out to a pub or a club or even one of Hermione's infamous blind dates. After Ginny, Harry tried to open his heart to other people, saying "Yes" to their date requests as long as they seemed trustworthy enough, regardless of gender. He was an Auror now, so he was very good at judging what was "trustworthy," thank you very much. Yet it was very rare that he ever brought any of those dates home into his sanctuary, since he just had no interest beyond the lunch or dinner.

For you see, Harry wanted more than just a shag. Harry wanted someone that could keep him warm at night and comfort him those rare times when a nightmare would disrupt his sleep, leaving him to lie there in the dead of night with no noise to help him go back to sleep. And Harry did not trust just anyone into his bed. Sometimes he worried that he was just too…intense, you know? After all the deaths and the mourning he had to go through, not to mention dying and coming back, he just craved someone that could have at least a hope of understanding, and those people were few and far between.

* * *

He was reflecting upon this state of affairs over a bowl of cereal one Saturday morning when suddenly he heard a _thump_ upstairs.

"Huh, wonder what _that_ could be?" he muttered to himself, craning his head to look at the ceiling.

Then he heard muffled voices, one of which was saying something like, "Put yer back into it, mate! Wanna move in by _today_, dontcha?"

The reply was softer, but Harry could sense the sarcastic tone. The other voice laughed, and the two of them seemed to bicker playfully for a while.

Ah. Apparently, the apartment upstairs was going to have some new residents. Harry smiled. He had missed the previous occupants, who had moved out a couple of months ago. They, too, had helped to contribute to the ambient sound. Now things would get back to normal again, for these new neighbours didn't seem to be any quieter.

He finished the cereal at a leisurely pace, listening to the thumps and bumps and occasional scrapes as one of them apparently got so tired of carrying something that he decided to _drag_ the thing across the floor. There was laughter, and there was more sarcastic grumbling, but all in all, it seemed like a fun affair.

Once he finished the cereal, he brought the bowl and spoon over the sink to wash them, looking out the window in the meantime. It was an overcast day today, and he did not have any particular plans with any of his friends. Perhaps today would be Watch the Telly Day.

He made his way over to his nice, warm bed and turned the television on, wrapping himself up in his blankets. As he watched his favourite Saturday programmes, he could still hear the sounds of the new neighbours moving stuff in, and soon the sounds became part of his soothing white noise.

* * *

On Sunday night, Harry was brushing his teeth, getting ready for an early bedtime, when he heard it.

A moan.

"Oh, great," he muttered around his toothbrush. "This bloke's one of _those_ people. Hope him and his partner aren't _too _loud."

He spat and rinsed his mouth and toothbrush and headed for his warm, comfortable bed, shaking his head a little. Well, who was he to begrudge other people for having sex, right? Sex was a natural part of life. Although it felt awkward as heck to listen in on other people doing it, there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well treat this as a form of drunken ballad.

Half an hour later, however, he still couldn't fall asleep. He found himself focusing on the moaning voice.

For some reason, the sound was _clear_. Unlike the muffled moving-in conversation he heard yesterday, he could hear every syllable, nonsensical though they might be, and he could also hear every little huff of breath. In fact, it was because he could hear every little huff of breath that he was utterly convinced that the bloke wasn't shagging someone else—he was _wanking_.

"Oh god," he groaned to himself. Funnily enough, the voice above him unwittingly repeated the same words right after him. Harry couldn't help it; he giggled a bit. "Must be one heck of a wank fantasy; he's really going at it."

"Oh god, yes, _faster_. Oh! Fuck yeah, h-_harder_."

Harry smirked to himself. Well, it _was_ rather amusing, even though it was still pretty awkward. The voice was masculine, but not very deep. It was soft, gentle, and almost musical. Maybe if Harry would just stop blushing for a minute, he could view it as some sort of sultry song and then fall asleep?

The thought was wiped away by the sudden sound of a high-pitched orgasm cry, and Harry knew his face would burn forever. It was…it was…

Incredibly sexy.

"God damn it," he growled, as he felt his hard prick with the palm of his hand.

Fine. So Harry would wank to the sound of some random stranger's wanking. There was nothing weird about that, especially if he didn't tell anyone else about it. He would just do this quick and then fall asleep. That was all.

By the time Harry came in his sheets, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged, the anonymous neighbour was already snoring softly, and that was the last thing Harry heard before he, too, entered the realm of slumber.

* * *

After a while, Harry and the unknown neighbour would fall into a routine. On the weekdays, neither of them wanked, since they were busy with their respective jobs. There were moments when Harry wondered what the bloke's job was, but perhaps it was best to know as little about him as possible. Harry already felt like enough of a pervert, thank you very much. There was no way in hell he would ever go upstairs and introduce himself. He could hear the neighbour shuffling around upstairs as he, too, prepared his breakfast, but yet again, the sound was more muffled above the kitchen and living room.

Was Harry's bedroom ceiling simply thinner than the other ceilings? Godric, he hoped not. He did not fancy having a bed and a bloke collapse on top of him as he slept. Just the bloke would do.

No, wait, not the bloke, either! Harry did _not_ want anything on top of him as he slept!

Well, except a blanket, obviously.

Oh, he was going bonkers again, wasn't he? He really needed to just hurry up with the breakfast and go already.

On the weekends, the bloke seemed to like lounging around the place, if the footsteps and creaking floorboards could be believed. Sometimes Harry heard his voice as he conversed with friends on the phone. Other times he heard the guy move chairs around, perhaps trying to create an optimal study space or whatever. The bloke also liked to sing, but Harry could never quite tell what exactly he was singing, since he never sang in the bedroom (other than metaphorically, of course). He liked the voice, though. The voice sang pretty decently.

Every moment he was home, Harry always heard _something_, so unless the bloke just somehow decided to go out and hang out with friends at the exact same time Harry did, the bloke never seemed to leave his home at all on the weekends.

Harry himself didn't know if he wanted to leave home, either. On the one hand, staying in to read or watch the telly in his bedroom sometimes rewarded him with a chance to hear the man wank again.

On the other hand, it was freaking Harry out that he even thought of that as a _reward_.

Yet he could not deny it. He was starting to become enamoured of the mysterious neighbour's bedroom voice. Every weekend, he looked forward to listening in on yet another wank session, and he would join in most of the time. There was just something exhilarating and naughty about hearing someone let go so passionately and getting off on the sound of that person getting off.

Harry did wonder why he never heard anyone else in the man's bedroom, though. Surely someone so passionate and addicted to sexual pleasure would have found someone by now?

Maybe the guy did have someone, but when he did meet up with that someone, he did it during the weekdays and at that person's house.

Or maybe he was like Harry, too busy and/or cynical to actually want to get involved with another human being.

Or maybe it was because he was apparently gay (if some of the words uttered were to be believed), so it was hard to find someone. Harry knew from experience that dates with the same sex were harder to procure than dates with the opposite sex.

Or maybe the man was some sort of narcissist that loved himself too much to love someone else.

Harry chuckled at that one. From the sounds of it, maybe the man didn't _need_ anyone else to have immense pleasure.

* * *

One night, Harry was in his bed, eagerly stroking his cock with one hand and playing with his bollocks with the other hand, when he heard, for the first time, a name.

"_Harry…_"

He gasped and paused in his actions. Was the man with a boyfriend now?

No, he still only heard one breathing pattern, and the breathing was speeding up.

Did he somehow know about Harry listening in?

"Gods, Harry, want you, yeah, j-just like that, o-o-oh yeah, fuck me harder, yeah—!"

The voice reached a heated crescendo, and Harry came with the stranger.

Then he breathed heavily at the ceiling, wondering.

In the throes of passion, he had imagined that the stranger knew exactly who he was and what he was doing, that somehow the stranger was attracted to him, too, and the image was so compelling and tantalising at the moment.

Now that he had come off his orgasmic high, though, he knew that he was being silly. There was no way the stranger would know who he was—Harry never ran into anyone on his way to or from work or social outings, and his mailbox did not have his name on it, just the apartment number. Besides, the residents here were all Muggles and never talked to him, so there was no way they knew of him.

The most likely explanation was that the stranger was referring to his own Harry, whoever that was. Maybe a long-distance boyfriend, or a crush, or an ex-lover, or even a Muggle celebrity. Prince Harry? Yes, that was probably what was happening.

Harry nodded and cast a cleaning charm on himself, smiling ruefully. Well, alright, so he had had his silly moment. Everyone can afford to have silly moments. At least this particular silly moment was in the privacy of his own bedroom, and no one, not even his noisy neighbour, would ever find out.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Harry!" exclaimed Ron and Hermione as he opened the front door.

He grinned at them. It was late at night on a Tuesday, the lamest day to have a birthday, since everyone was usually too knackered from their respective jobs to even bother celebrating it with him, but _of course_ his two best friends would somehow find a way.

He eyed the cake box and wine bottle in Ron's arms. "So _that's_ why you rejected my invite to go to the pub with me and told me to go home. I thought you were finally getting sick of me, Ronniekins."

Ron snorted. "As if! If I'm still your mate by now, I'm probably going to be your mate forever."

Harry fluttered his eyelashes. "How sweet! And do _you_ have a declaration of forever for me, too, 'Mione?"

She grinned and smacked him on the shoulder with a bag-laden hand. "I'll be miffed at you forever if you don't let us in right now! I'm tired of holding these presents!"

Thus Harry stepped back and let his friends in, setting the table for the cake and rummaging through his fridge to see if he could whip up a passable dinner or at least a snack for his guests.

Afterwards, the three of them piled onto his bed to watch the telly, with Harry on his usual side of the bed, Hermione in the middle, and Ron at the end. Other adult friends might have found this arrangement weird, but after all they had been through in their adolescent years, they didn't give a damn about "weird" anymore. Now that they no longer had some crazy evil wizard hovering over their lives, this was their chance to finally relax and just be with each other, especially on occasions like these.

Besides, it never got old, watching Ron hog the remote and obsessively attempt to figure out the controls. When it came to Muggle devices, it really was "like father, like son," although both Harry and Hermione knew better than to bring it up and cause him to feel self-conscious.

Just as the clock chimed ten-o'-clock, however, they heard footsteps above them, clear enough for Harry to know that the man was barefoot.

"What was that?" asked Ron, looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh, that's my neighbour," replied Harry offhandedly.

"B-But, your neighbours were never that loud before! Is this new one really heavy or something?"

Harry shook his head, blushing a little, hoping that the bloke would stick to his usual weekday routine and _not_ start wanking right now. "No, for some reason, I can hear this person much more clearly than the previous tenants. I can even hear him breathe, sometimes."

"How can you sleep through that?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"It's not a big deal; I got used to it after a while. I mean, c'mon, I can handle concerts and drunken singers; a bloke's breathing isn't going to bother me now."

Hermione nodded, grinning at that. "True. Although, it is rather interesting that the sound quality is different with this neighbour rather than the others…"

"Oh boy, here we go again," groaned Ron, sensing danger in the contemplative tone. "Leave it, Hermione; it's not that urgent a mystery."

"Yeah, let's go to sleep, guys. We all have work tomorrow," Harry reminded them.

The three of them groaned at the thought of waking up early, and they all made their preparations for bed.

* * *

The next day, Harry awoke to the sound of Hermione's excited pacing.

"What is it, 'Mione?" he mumbled, stretching as he got out of bed. Ron was still out cold.

"I've got it! Your neighbour's a wizard, Harry!"

Harry blinked. "What? How do you figure?"

"Think about it. What's the difference between a bedroom and the rest of the rooms in the house?"

"Er…you sleep in it?"

"Well, yes, but it's also a more _private_ room. Even more private than the washroom sometimes. The bedroom is the place where people take shelter from the rest of the world, and you only invite people you trust in the bedroom. Just like how you invited us, for example, Harry."

"Okay, I'll admit that that's pretty deep, but what does this have to do with this bloke being a wizard?"

"My theory is that he's used silencing charms on his room in order to increase his sense of privacy."

"Silencing charms? Then why the hell's he so bloody loud?" grumbled Ron from the bed, surprising them both. "Shouldn't silencing charms make him…silent?"

"Yes, but you see, when you cast a silencing charm or ward, what do you aim for? The walls, doors, and windows, right?"

"Right…" said Harry slowly.

"But you never aim for the floor, do you?"

Harry furrowed his brows. "No, I reckon not."

"And normally, you wouldn't have to, because most of the time, you're either already on the ground, or the floors have built-in sound-mufflers, like at the Ministry. But this is a Muggle building, so there's none of that here."

"But why would that make him _louder_?" asked Ron, scratching his head. "Wouldn't he still be at normal volume without the proper charm?"

"Well, if you miss a wall—or the floor, in this case—when casting a silencing ward, all the sound, which is dying to escape, just bounces off the other walls and amplify before finally escaping where it can, and that is why we can hear him very distinctly through his floor."

Harry and Ron nodded. It made sense.

"Well, anyway, we should really get going, Ron. Bye, Harry!"

"Bye, you guys. Thanks for celebrating my birthday with me."

After his friends left, Harry sat at the edge of his bed, thinking.

If this bloke really was a wizard, as Hermione conjectured, then…was it possible that he was wanking to the thought of _Harry_ _Potter_?

Oh god, what if it was some crazy, perverted fanboy residing upstairs?

Harry gulped and vowed to never leave the apartment without putting on a Glamour first.

* * *

By the next weekend, however, Harry had forgotten his scruples and was wanking to the seductive male voice again.

"Oh yeah, _ohh_, take me tight, Harry, I _like_ that…"

God, Harry liked that, too. He was on his knees and one hand, thrusting wildly into his other hand, imagining a tight arse below him with the cheeks wide open and ready for him.

"Yes, _harder_!"

"God I'm fucking you as hard as I can!"

The man gasped for breath and moaned his lungs out, sounding more and more animalistic as he chased his completion.

Harry moaned, too, imagining the man on his back in his own bed, fingering himself roughly, desperate for the touch of some Harry that might very well be him.

He came hard, his come hitting his headboard. Then he collapsed, groaning and waving his wand at the mess before feeling the shame creep in.

What was wrong with him? Why wasn't he going outside and finding a _real_ bloke to shag, rather than voyeuristically getting off on someone else's pleasure? Sure, it had been fun and amusing the first couple of times, but he had been doing this for _months_ now. He rarely went out on weekends anymore!

That was it. He was going to go out to a club tomorrow, find some random guy, and bring him home.

* * *

He was not going to bring anyone home.

Harry sighed in disgust as he slammed the door shut and deposited his keys on the counter. God, who was he kidding? All those random blokes scared the hell out of him. They were just so…so…_forward_. And although Harry was pretty horny lately, he _still_ wanted something _deeper_, more _meaningful_.

How could he have let some wanker upstairs distract him from that goal?

He stripped off his clothes, brushed his teeth, and sank into his bed, sighing, hoping to fall asleep soon.

Unfortunately, the moaning started up again.

"Merlin's bollocks!" he whined as he felt his prick harden immediately. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

A few minutes later, however, Harry was too busy enjoying himself to care.

* * *

By the next Saturday morning, Harry had had a whole week to come up with a plan. He had to get to the bottom of this. His obsession with the stranger was getting to the point where it was distracting him from his work, which had actually been near-fatal when it came to the most recent suspect, and that was just not on.

So there he was, chewing grimly on his toast, making the resolution to go upstairs and confront the man the next time he heard him wanking. He would not confront him as himself, of course. There was no knowing just who the hell it was, and he did not want to end up assaulted, sexually or otherwise. He would just have to put on a Glamour.

After he cleared the dishes, he nervously made his way to the bedroom, knowing that it was highly likely that the confrontation would have to happen today. It was Saturday, after all. He pulled a book out of his bookshelf and sat on the bed, reading the detective novel as he waited.

"_Ohhh_…"

"And there it is," he sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. He looked down at his crotch and scowled. "No. You're just going to have to wait," he scolded his other head. "Besides, maybe when we go upstairs to confront the guy, it'll turn out that he's completely unattractive, and we'll never end up wanking over him, ever again. Then you'll actually catch a break, and we can go find a worthier warmth for you than my hand, hm?"

He then rolled his eyes in exasperation, realising that he had just been talking to his penis. Merlin, that man really _was_ driving him insane!

Once he was dressed and disguised, he took the stairs and made his way to the door. He kept his wand hidden in his sleeve. If Hermione was right and the man was a wizard, he'll be a very pissed off wizard for having had his wank interrupted. Harry did not want to get hexed into oblivion, especially not for _this_ kind of reason.

He swallowed and knocked on the door.

There was nothing at first, but after a couple of minutes, footsteps approached the door. Harry's heart beat faster. He really hoped the man was an absolute troll in the looks department.

The door swung open.

Harry fought not to gape.

Standing on the other side of the threshold was Draco Malfoy, his soft blonde hair mussed, his pale face flushed, and his clothes in obvious disarray.

Harry should have been turned off for the rest of his life. He should have. He did feel pretty horrified, after all, which was a completely normal reaction when realising that one had been wanking to the sound of a _Malfoy_'s voice.

Yet his cock twitched at the vision instead, and he found that he couldn't breathe.

Malfoy only knew one Harry, as far as he knew. Just one. And he was that Harry. His mind whirled confusedly and excitedly. Since when had he developed an exclusive crush on him? They didn't even see each other anymore! Had he always liked him?

"Yes?" Malfoy snapped finally, interrupting Harry's excited trains of thought. "How may I help you?"

Harry blinked and remembered belatedly that he was disguised and that Malfoy couldn't possibly know it was him. "E-Er. Erm. Yes, well, this is awkward."

"Well?" The blonde seemed to be clenching his jaw, and Harry wondered if he still hated Muggles as much as he did before. Probably. And it probably didn't help that this "Muggle" had interrupted a promising wank.

"I'm sorry, but you're um, you're very loud. Could you please tune it down? I'm trying to concentrate on something." Like trying not to wank himself raw over _Malfoy_ anymore. Oh God, he still couldn't get over that.

Malfoy flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I assure you, I don't make _any_ noise at all."

Ah, right. He probably thought his silencing charms were infallible. Well. There was no way that he could explain the truth without blowing his cover as a random Muggle neighbour. Time to go home and regroup and come up with a new plan. Maybe get himself over the shock. And figure out why he was still hard.

"I-I guess I was mistaken, then. Must be a different neighbour, or maybe something outside. Sorry to have disturbed you. Have a nice day."

Harry turned and quickly tried to flee.

Malfoy was quicker, however.

"_Incarcerous!"_

He fell, shocked. What the hell? Why was Malfoy attacking a _Muggle_? Shouldn't he be trying to live cleanly, ever since the whole war business?

Malfoy grabbed part of the rope and physically dragged him into the apartment before closing the door.

"I know you're a wizard," snarled Malfoy, leaning over his prone figure. "I can see the shimmering of the Glamour; don't think you can fool me. Now. We can do this the nice way, or we can do this the nasty way. Which do you prefer?"

Harry struggled against the ropes wordlessly, not wanting to risk responding for fear of letting an innuendo slip out.

Malfoy leaned closer. "I think you'll find it in your best interests to answer my questions, simpleton."

"O-Okay," he rasped out, not wanting Malfoy's face to get any closer. "Ask away."

"Who are you, why have you disguised yourself, and what the bloody fuck do you mean by 'loud'?"

Oh, God. There was no way he could answer any of that. Forget it. He'd put up with the nasty way if he had to.

So Harry summoned his Auror training and rolled around, kicking Malfoy off his feet before getting up on his own feet.

"Argh!" Malfoy shouted as he fell.

Harry ran off, panicking as he realised that there was no way in hell he could get out the front door when he couldn't use his hands to open it. So he'd just have to run around instead and hope that he could improvise a new solution somehow.

He ran into Malfoy's bedroom and slammed the door shut with his body, using his whole weight to keep the door closed.

Angry footsteps reached the door, and a fist banged on it. "What the hell are you doing in my bedroom? Out! That's _my _bedroom! Don't make me use magic on you!"

Harry whimpered, but he knew that Malfoy probably couldn't hear it with the silencing charms, and he was glad. What could he do? Maybe he could jump off the balcony and possibly break something or die?

He yelped and jumped away as the door behind him suddenly grew hotter.

It blasted open. "Aha! Got you now, you little bastard!"

"Shit shit shit shit shit—" Harry tried to run away, but Malfoy pounced on him, and they fell onto his bed.

Harry bit back a moan as his nose was buried in the sheets and he smelled sweat and aftershave and soap and—oh God, just the general scent of Malfoy. The knowledge that Malfoy was wanking here just a few minutes ago didn't help, and the fact that Malfoy was on top of him didn't help, either.

"So," Malfoy snarled into his ear from behind. "You won't answer my questions directly like a decent person, so I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

Harry gasped as he felt Malfoy jab the tip of his wand against his face.

"But first, I want to see the face of the bastard I'm interrogating…_finite incantatem!_"

Harry closed his eyes as he felt the Glamour slip off his face.

He heard a gasp. Then he felt the ropes disappear.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Chosen Scarhead himself. What an honour," spat Malfoy. Harry shivered, suddenly remembering the sarcastic voice he had first heard back when his neighbour—well, _Malfoy_—moved in. He should have known.

Oh God, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he'd been in love with Malfoy's voice for this whole time. _In love_. Obsessed, even. And knowing that it was Malfoy didn't make him want it any less.

"So, Potter," whispered that sexy voice menacingly into his ear as hands gripped his shoulders. "What do you mean by 'loud'?"

He tried not to whimper, even though his body was dying for more. "You really need to learn to silence your floor, Malfoy. I can hear you through the ceiling."

Malfoy stiffened above him. "And what do you hear?"

"Y-You know exactly what I hear."

Malfoy tightened his grip. "Too prudish to spell it out, Potter? Come on. Be a man. Say it."

"No."

"Say it! Spell it out!"

"No!"

"Scared, Potter?"

God _damn_ it. "Fine! I hear you fucking wanking, okay?"

Malfoy's lips pressed closer to his ear, and Harry could hear the guttural snarl behind his words. "And how long have you been hearing this?"

"Since the day you moved in!"

"Yet you only choose now to tell me? It's been months, Potter. Have you just been listening all this time?"

"Y-Yes…"

One of Malfoy's hands left his shoulder and slid under Harry's body, reaching for his hard-on. "I would ask you why, Potter, but I think _this_ answers the question sufficiently enough."

Harry finally let himself moan as Malfoy wrapped his fingers around his clothed cock.

"Tell me, Potter, did you enjoy listening in? Did you grow hard for me?"

"Y-Yes…I did…"

The hand left his cock as it and the other hand decided to move towards Harry's waistband, pulling his trousers and boxers down his legs.

"Did you touch yourself?" Malfoy purred, as he moved one of his hands back up to fondle Harry's bollocks.

"God, yes!"

"I'll bet you came to the sound of my voice, didn't you?"

"Yes! Okay? Yes! I got off to you every weekend! You happy?"

Harry suddenly found himself flipped over onto his back, watching Malfoy yank his pants completely off of him before attacking his shoes.

"And how does it feel, Potter, knowing that it was me all along?" he taunted, as he yanked the trainers off.

Harry looked into Malfoy's face for the first time since he ran away, and he saw that Malfoy was biting his lower lip. Despite the tone, despite the taunting, it was clear that Malfoy was nervous. This emboldened him.

"I would still touch myself to your voice, Draco, even knowing that it's you. _Especially _because I know that it's you."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock, and Harry took advantage of this reaction to slide his wand from his sleeve into his hand, vanish his clothes, and roll them over.

Harry pressed his lips to Malfoy's ear, giving it a tender kiss before asking his own questions. "Now tell _me_, Draco," he breathed, grinding his erection against Malfoy's, "am _I_ the Harry you always moan so prettily for?"

Malfoy moaned, bucking upwards. "Yes, Harry, _yes_."

"And would you like me to fulfil your wank fantasies?"

"Oh Merlin, _please_!"

"Tell me what you'd like, and beg for it."

"Fuck me, Harry! Please!"

Harry gave Draco's ear one last, lingering lick before moving back and slipping one of his fingers into his entrance, only to smirk as he found it already loose and lubricated.

Draco blushed, looking away. "Well, you _did_ interrupt my wanking session…"

"Mm, let me make it up to you, then."

He pulled out his finger, lined up his cock, and pushed in, and Draco arched his back and screamed.

God, there was a difference between hearing his moans from above his ceiling and hearing it in person, not to mention the pleasure of feeling his fingers digging into Harry's shoulders as he held on for dear life.

"_Yes,_ Harry! _Harder_! God I've been so ready!"

Harry obeyed, helpless to resist that voice, especially now that he saw the face that came with it. Draco was _beautiful_. Even though his features were even more pointed than they had been back in school, there was a softness in the way his eyelids fluttered, the way his lips shifted and shaped the delightful sounds he made when he gave himself over to pleasure.

Then he, too, felt himself consumed by pleasure, and his mind went blank for the next few minutes as he developed a rhythm, pounding into his infuriating neighbour while stroking him with one of his hands.

Then came the high-pitched cry that Harry had heard for the past several months, and he watched, fascinated, as Draco came all over their chests.

The sight was enough to send him over the edge, and he rode out his orgasm, sobbing Draco's name over and over.

Afterwards, they lay side by side in Draco's bed, both staring up at the ceiling, panting and trying to catch their breaths.

Harry caught his breath first. "So. I'm your wank fantasy, eh?"

Draco groaned. "Shut up, Potter. Smugness isn't an attractive trait."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Your smugness is _very_ attractive."

"That's because I'm attractive no matter what, Potter. _Your _attractiveness, on the other hand, is rather conditional."

"Oh yeah? Then what conditions do I meet in your fantasies?"

"God, I don't really want to talk about this."

Harry turned and wrapped his arms and legs around the blonde. "Too bad. If you want me to stay in your bed, you're going to talk to me, because I don't do casual fucks."

He heard Draco's breath catch. "You don't?"

"No. So talk."

"I…alright, I've had a crush on you since the day you came by to return my wand. Remember that?"

Harry thought back wistfully to that moment, remembering a thinner, frailer, more exhausted Draco Malfoy, hands trembling as he took his wand back. "Yeah, I remember."

"I don't know what it was about that moment. Perhaps it was the fact that you were dressed in decent clothes for once. Or maybe it helped that I didn't fear for my life anymore. Or maybe I was just so grateful to have my wand back. But when I looked at you, I realized that you were attractive, according to the conditions of that day."

"Mm." He nuzzled Draco's neck, earning a soft moan. "Tell me more."

"So in my fantasies, you're always like that. Brave. Standing tall. Kind to me. A bit cocky. I mean, sometimes I vary it up a little, and I make you a bit more shy in my head, but mostly I go back to that image. And although at first my fantasies didn't _always_ involve you, eventually…well, eventually, I lost contact with all people that are even remotely attractive. That's what happens in my line of work, you know."

"What _is_ your line of work?"

"I'm an attorney, actually. And all my clients are butt-ugly, let me tell you. Crime doesn't pay, and it doesn't make you pretty, either."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And yet you still find time to _wank_?"

"Trust me. I can _always_ make time for sex. Sometimes I even need it. When I'm stumped on a case, agonising over it doesn't help."

"I see…so anyway, to recap, you wank over me because there's no one else to wank over?"

Draco grinned, turning around to capture Harry's affronted frown with his lips. "You're the only wank material that stays fresh. After all, you're always in the papers. I get a new picture of you practically every day!"

"Ugh…" Harry tried to move away from him, but Draco held him fast.

"Shush. I don't need to look at the papers anymore, anyway. Not if you want to continue this…thing we have now."

He pretended to think about it. "Well, I _am_ tired of having to hear you wank all the time. I figure that the best way to stop that is to make you so spent from actual shagging that you can't wank anymore."

Draco smirked with self-satisfaction. "Or…you could help me with my silencing charms."

"Mm…true…but I find this way more fun for me."

Draco leaned in and kissed him thoroughly, before pulling away and murmuring, "I wholeheartedly agree."

And although Harry wasn't exactly sure if Draco was The One that he'd been looking for, the one that could help him get through the past and the one that could help him sleep at night, he knew that he was worth a try, if only because he knew he could never be bored or lonely around a prat like him.

The end.


End file.
